The smile Glynne had called up, and which came with an unbidden flush, died out slowly, and a look of calmness, even of relief, dawned upon her countenance as the young man went on.
“Thought you wouldn’t mind if we didn’t go this afternoon. Looks a bit doubtful, too. Quite fine, now, but the weather does change so rapidly.”
“Does it?” said Glynne, looking at him rather wistfully.
“Yes. I think it’s the pine woods. High trees. Attract moisture. Don’t say it is, dear. I’m not big at that sort of thing, but we do have a deal of rain here.”
“Why, papa was complaining the other day about want of water,” said Glynne, smiling.
“Ah, that was for his turnips. They want rain. You won’t be disappointed?”
“I?—oh, no,” said Glynne, quietly.
“Think I’ll do a bit of training this afternoon. I’m not quite up to the mark.”
“Are you always going to train so much, dear?” said Glynne, thoughtfully.
“Always? Eh? Always? Oh, no; of course not; but it’s a man’s duty to get himself up to the very highest pitch of health and strength. But if you’d set your mind upon a ride, we’ll go.”